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Not His Best Day

May 23, 2006

When the wife and I brought Chase home from the hospital, we felt a lot of things. We felt tired. We felt worried. I’ve talked about our concerns. There’s nothing like the scars of a fresh surgery to amplify those feelings. The doctor told us that the surgery went fine. We felt hopeful — at least we tried.

The following week didn’t reinforce the doctor’s statements. Certainly, the little tike was doing better this time around. His wounds were healing at a fast rate. He looked better, a result that surely included two parents with adjusted expectations. His recovery was worlds quicker. After about an hour of entering the house, he wanted out of our arms so that he could hold a full audience with his toys. Two parents had little heart attacks as his tiny steps broke into a full run.

These were rather wonderful things but it was easy to temper our enthusiasm. His eyelid appeared to droop. It didn’t look much better. In fact, it didn’t look much different at all.

This was an emotional fact to confront so I didn’t. I rationalized. He’s healing. It’s still swollen. He doesn’t know it’s fixed. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

As the next or so week passed, the wife and I witnessed flashes of hope. Occasionally, both of his two eyes would appear completely open. He looked up at my wife without the need for me to qualify the experience. The little boy appeared to be progressing but still we worried. His follow-up appointment was scheduled. We feared the results.

I’m quite happy to report that . The surgery was a success. He’s not done with this problem in his lifetime but he’s done with it now. That’s a timeframe I can live with.

Things are looking up because, more and more, he demonstrates the ability to do just that. He looks up. Things aren’t yet perfect but they are very much improving.

So, today was not his best day. I’m convinced of it. That day is yet to come.